


Faint Hopes and Wishes

by pollybywater



Category: Smallville
Genre: First Time, Futurefic, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-02
Updated: 2004-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 05:49:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/352714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollybywater/pseuds/pollybywater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for the CLFF Seventh Wave - First Line Challenge.  Meddling friends and family shove Clark out of the closet and into Lex's arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faint Hopes and Wishes

I strongly wish for what I faintly hope: Like the day-dreams of melancholy men,  
I think and think on things impossible, Yet love to wander in that golden maze. John Dryden 

"What was wrong with him - he just couldn't get it up for Lana, the woman of his dreams..." Chloe said with a dramatic gasp, lifting the back of her hand to her forehead with a pretended swoon. Lana gave her a sour look, reminded of precisely why there had been long periods of time during high school when she couldn't stand Chloe Sullivan. She almost wished she hadn't accepted her friend's off-handed invitation to come over for pizza and a movie, and she definitely wished she'd turned down that last bottle of Shiner Bock. What made her think she and Chloe needed to get together and celebrate the end of their second year of college? She should have known the two of them couldn't meet without Clark Kent's name coming up somewhere. 

Especially since Clark himself... uh... wasn't. 

"Maybe it's not you he's dreaming of," Chloe added thoughtfully. 

"Fuck you, Chloe. It's not like he ever got it up for you either," Lana said, snickering now at her own beer-enhanced sense of humor. 

It was her own fault anyway, for telling Chloe about her last date with Clark a week ago. Since she and Clark had ended up at Met U together, they'd continued their on-again, off-again relationship. Lana was convinced half the reason for that was to make them both feel at home in their strange new surroundings. She hadn't seen Clark since end of term last week, and didn't know if he was planning to visit Smallville or not before starting his summer internship at the Daily Planet. 

She'd be surprised if he did, considering how embarrassed he'd been. They'd parted ways for the last time, and she'd tried to make sure they parted as friends, because she really did love Clark... even if she wasn't exactly _in love_ with him any more. She wasn't sure she ever had been, actually. There'd always been something missing, and now she knew what it was. 

"True, he didn't," Chloe agreed philosophically, handing Lana a cold one then plopping down beside her on the sofa. "Ya wanna know what I think?" She asked in a conspiratorial whisper. 

"I'm sure you'll tell me anyway," Lana said wryly, and Chloe poked her in the arm. 

"Hey! 'M tryin' to make a point here." Chloe leaned into Lana's personal space, her breath puffing out in a rather potent cloud of beer, tomato sauce, and popcorn. "I think Clark is gay." 

"Gay," Lana repeated doubtfully, then thought about it for a minute before deciding that it would explain quite a lot. Clark's inability to commit, his tendency to put her on an asexual pedestal, his inability to perform when she'd grown tired of waiting and pushed the issue, his insistence on keeping so many secrets from her... and then there was his clear devotion to- 

"Yeah, gay, and he's so far in the closet that he can't see the light through the keyhole!" Chloe concluded a bit drunkenly, interrupting Lana's train of thought. "We need to fix him up!" 

"We need to do _what_?" 

"Fix him up! Pay attention, Lana!" 

"With who?" Lana burst out, shocked, incredulous, and yes, just a little titillated by her friend's outrageous suggestion. 

"I think you know," Chloe said, those too-bright eyes suddenly serious. 

Lana nodded reluctantly and Chloe cackled with obvious triumph. 

"Yes! And it's 'with whom', Miss Business Major," she added, laughing when Lana rolled her eyes. 

Well lubricated by more Shiner Bock, a plan was discussed... which eventually prompted the co-conspirators to decide that the job was too much for them alone. 

They needed an ally. 

* * *

Martha was awakened by someone pounding on the door. She checked the clock automatically as she rose from the bed and pulled on her robe - twelve-thirty in the morning - and was not surprised when Jonathan didn't budge. Determined to keep the farm free and clear, and with the usual large number of late spring chores, he'd been working extra-long hours lately. 

Not to mention she'd sucked his brains out through his cock earlier, she thought with an inner smirk. It was the best sleep-aid she knew. 

She made her way downstairs and pulled open the front door, more than a little startled to see Chloe Sullivan and Lana Lang standing on the porch. She started to greet them but Chloe shoved what looked like a six-pack of beer into her hands while Lana took her by the arm and drew her outside. 

"Mrs. Kent, we need to talk to you," Chloe said bluntly. Before Martha quite knew what was happening she found herself ensconced in a rocking chair, with an ice-cold beer open in her hand and the girls sitting at her feet. The night air in late May was warm enough to make a cold beer sound almost reasonable, and an amused Martha Kent said a mental 'what the hell' and took a swig. 

"Please tell me you girls didn't drive over here," it occurred to her to worry. 

"Oh, no, Mrs. Kent. My dad dropped us off. He said we were keeping him awake anyway," Chloe confided just before emitting a distinctly unfeminine belch. Martha was torn between pitying Gabe Sullivan for his obvious desperation and ripping him a new one for dumping this on her. Fortunately, her innate good nature and sense of humor won out. 

"All right, what did you want to talk to me about?" 

Half an hour's worth of enlightening conversation later, a rather stunned Martha finished her second beer and popped the top on a third. 

"So let me get this straight," she began slowly, her tongue unaccountably thick. 

"No, no, that's the point. He's _not_ straight," Lana insisted, having finally passed merely intoxicated in favor of shit-faced as she and Chloe finished the last beer together. "I just don't think _he_ knows he's not straight... or maybe it's just another one of those secrets of his... or maybe he's afraid of disappointing you and Mr. Kent. I just know I don't do anything for him." 

Those doe eyes welled up with tears. 

"It's _not_ me, is it? Whitney never had any pro- oops, I shouldna said that." 

"Oh, hell, if you're quoting Hagrid it's time for bed, Lana," Chloe said disgustedly and levered the other girl up off the porch. "I'm gonna put her down on the sofa, Mrs. Kent, if that's okay?" 

Martha, still speechless, waved her approval, wincing when the screen door slammed behind them. If that didn't wake Jonathan up, nothing would. 

Sure enough, several minutes later her husband ambled out to join her, dressed in sweat pants and tee shirt, his hair a tousled mess, face unshaven, and looking altogether sexy as hell, in her opinion. He seemed a bit startled to see her with a beer in her hand. 

"Martha? Honey, what's going on? Lana and Chloe are asleep in the living room." 

"Passed out is more like it," Martha sighed, handing Jon the unfinished beer. 

"Am I going to need this?" He joked, then caught sight of her solemn face. "What's wrong?" 

"Jonathan, I don't think I've ever felt like more of a failure as a parent than I do right now," she murmured sadly, catching his hand in hers and holding it to her face. 

"Martha, you're scaring me. Is something wrong with Clark?" Jonathan set the beer can aside and knelt between Martha's knees, his other hand still on that lovely face. 

"Something's wrong with _us_ ," she insisted as one tear worked free. "Clark has a problem- a _big_ problem, that he's been keeping from us." 

"Honey, that doesn't make you a failure," Jonathan said helplessly, not sure what to ask next but knowing above all else that he didn't want his wife to cry. 

"Doesn't it? How would you feel if I kept something from you because I was afraid of your reaction? How would you feel if I buried it so deep it started to affect me physically, but I still couldn't tell you, because I didn't trust you to love me anyway?" Martha Kent was far from a failure as a mother, and with a mother's faultless intuition she'd already settled on the likeliest reasons behind her son's silence on this subject. Clark was very honest with himself, and she didn't think it was possible that he wouldn't be sure of his own sexual preferences... which left Lana's last, carelessly tossed off theory. Clark _was_ gay, and wouldn't act on it, would in fact try his best to be heterosexual, simply so his parents wouldn't be disappointed in him. 

The very idea made her heart hurt. She knew how desperately afraid Clark was of letting her and Jonathan down, especially since his wild summer in Metropolis and everything that had happened immediately afterwards. Jonathan having to temporarily take Clark's powers just to bring him home, their lives threatened to the point of being held hostage in their own barn, and how they'd almost lost the farm. Why, if it hadn't been for Lex- 

Oh, and Lex. 

Wasn't Lex at the very heart of this problem? She'd seen the way Clark looked at Lex back when Clark was fifteen years old, and she'd pretended not to notice, labeling that bemused fascination in her son's eyes as hero worship and friendship when she _knew_ it was more than that. If Clark had looked at Lana the way he looked at Lex she would have lectured him on safe sex then given him her blessing, but because those looks were aimed towards Lex she'd deliberately buried her head in the sand. And Jonathan... how many times had he railed against the Luthors and made Clark miserable about merely associating with Lex? No wonder Clark had repressed his real feelings and tried to live up to what he believed were their expectations. 

And they knew so little about what was normal for Clark's people. What if falling in love at fifteen was what they all did? What if same-sex relationships were the rule, instead of the exception? What if Clark's people had only one love, one mate for life? What if Lex had been it for Clark, but Clark's chance was gone, thanks to Clark's belief that she and Jonathan wouldn't have tolerated- 

"Martha!" 

"When, Jonathan? When did _what_ Clark is become more important to us than _who_ Clark is?" She asked as Jon's worried voice broke through her mournful thoughts. He took her shoulders in his hands and gave her a gentle shake. 

"What did Lana and Chloe tell you?" 

Calling upon her faith in this good man whom she'd loved for so long, she told him. Everything. Starting with Lana's report of Clark's inability to perform, Lana's and Chloe's conclusion that Clark was gay and her own suspicions that they were right, including why she thought Clark kept it a secret. She even confessed her own questions about Clark's heritage and the interest their son had once had- or maybe had even still -in Lex Luthor. 

To her great surprise, Jonathan merely butted his head against her belly, nuzzling like a child seeking comfort. 

"You aren't the only one who saw... something... between Clark and Lex. Why do you think I kept trying to discourage them from seeing each other? I thought- I was always so worried that Lex would take advantage of Clark. Not just his abilities but sexually, too. Clark was so young... Martha, you have to know I never wanted Clark to hide who he is from _us_ ," he finished in an anxious rush. 

"We're the ones who taught him to hide," she whispered, curling over Jon as if to shelter him from the truth of her own words. 

"This is all just... speculation," he murmured, but she knew from his tone that he'd really listened to her and was giving the matter honest consideration... and Jonathan Kent, when he focused that clear-sighted sense of conviction on something, was as powerful in his own way as their son was. 

"And if it isn't? How will you handle it, Jonathan?" 

"I'm not a homophobe, Martha. You _know_ that. You know _why_." 

"I do know, but Clark doesn't," she replied gently, waiting. 

"I want Clark to be as happy as we are," he eventually announced in a resigned tone, and she worked one hand under his chin to lift his head, looking into those beautiful eyes. 

"I love you, Jonathan Kent." 

"And I'm grateful for that miracle every day, Martha Kent. I'll make sure Clark knows I'll accept his choice... no matter what it is," Jonathan said, rolling his eyes as he added, "even if it's Lex Luthor." He smiled at her then with that lopsided grin that had stolen her heart so many years previously, and she had to smile back for a long moment. 

Jonathan's smile faded. 

"We don't know that Lex is still... or even whether Clark is..." 

"Interested?" She finished for him as he gave a wry shrug. "Chloe and Lana seem to think there's hope." 

Martha had the pleasure of seeing her husband's jaw drop at that little bombshell. 

* * *

Clark almost talked himself out of going home to visit. After all, every day that he wasn't in Metropolis was a day that he wasn't there to help somebody... but he _wanted_ to go home with a visceral hunger that was nearly painful. He wanted to sleep in the barn loft and watch his mom scramble eggs and plant seedlings with his dad and smell air that was uncorrupted by exhaust fumes and screams. He wanted, just for a little while, to simply be Clark... not whatever he was as the defender and protector of the victimized and unfortunate. He wanted, just for a little while, to lay his burdens down and bask in his parents' care and concern. 

He wanted to not be in the same town as Lex Luthor, so he wouldn't have to confront the futility of his dreams once or twice a week over casual lunches, movies and games of pool. He wanted to pretend he was a normal person, with normal desires and a chance for a normal life. Not that there was a hope in hell of that now, especially given the way things had gone with Lana on their last date... and what had happened between Lex and him after that. 

Lana had confirmed something for him that he'd long suspected... something his body had known before his mind accepted. He could hold a woman, he could kiss a woman - he could, with his hands and his mouth, sexually satisfy a woman... but he couldn't fuck her. His body wouldn't let him. His body knew who _it_ wanted, and Clark rather thought he needed some space to resign himself to never having what his arms ached to hold. 

And maybe that _would_ be a little easier with some distance. Maybe he could gain enough perspective to merely appreciate Lex as a friend, especially since their friendship had hit more than a few rocky patches over the years and yet somehow seemed to endure, increasingly tempered and honed like the fine edge of a blade. 

He wasn't sure it could endure this, though. 

Tired, unhappy, and not in the mood to juggle luggage all the way home, he hopped the Greyhound bus to Smallville, nodding off into a restless sleep before they were even halfway there. His dreams were elusive and fragmentary but wholly, indisputably Lex... and therefore happier than his waking hours. 

* * *

Clark was rubbing his eyes as he exited the bus, and Jonathan had to smile, remembering a much smaller boy in sweet little footed pajamas doing the very same thing. He saw the moment Clark's vision cleared enough to catch sight of him, that impossibly brilliant smile echoing right after. 

"Clark!" 

"Dad!" 

"How you doing, son?" Jon asked with his own big grin, wrapping his arms around his boy. "Welcome home!" Clark squeezed him back with that gingery caution that marked every embrace they'd shared for the last five years... and funny, Jonathan thought, that he was only now noticing. 

"I'm fine. Where's Mom?" 

"Putting the finishing touches on all your favorite dishes, I expect," Jonathan teased, glad when Clark's smile brightened once more. "Finals go okay?" He let Clark get his own bags, struck anew by his son's effortless strength. 

"I think so, yeah." 

They fell in step and reached the truck at the same time- Clark's truck, the one Lex had given him years ago. Lex had again presented it to Clark when Clark graduated high school, along with the news that Lex was going to be managing LuthorCorp's holdings in Europe for a year, was shutting the castle down, and needed to get the truck out of the garage, please. 

Clark had been so obviously disappointed by Lex's plans that Jonathan hadn't had the heart to make Clark refuse it a second time. When the time came for Clark to leave for Met U, however, Clark had decided not to take the truck, insisting he could get anywhere he needed to go in Metropolis by city bus if not by merely running, and had then asked his parents to make sure his truck was regularly driven. Jonathan - whose insurance premiums were too high to afford payments on a new truck, thanks to three totaled trucks in three years - hadn't had the heart to refuse that offer, either. 

Now Jonathan worried that Clark just hadn't been able to face having it around as a daily reminder. He shook his head and wondered how he was ever going to be able to bring up the subject of his son's sexuality without embarrassing them both. Then again, a little embarrassment would be a small price to pay for Clark's eventual happiness, and he'd never been one to beat around the bush. 

Still, he wasn't going to hit Clark with it right away. 

As they were on the road towards home, Jonathan listened to Clark talk about his classes, his professors, his classmates, the Planet, and virtually everything except either Lana _or_ Lex... and felt an odd little clutch of pain at the realization that Clark really _was_ hiding what should have been the most significant parts of his life. 

Well, not for much longer, by God. Jonathan Kent was resolved. 

* * *

In a fit of temper, Lex flung his briefcase across the living room as soon as he walked in the penthouse door. He stomped towards the bar, and for a long minute his hands hovered over the scotch while he tried to make up his mind whether to pour himself a drink or hurl the whole damned bottle, too. 

In the end he did neither. There wasn't enough scotch in Metropolis to make his heart stop hurting, anyway, and he was far too self-aware not to realize that hurt was fueling his anger. 

It would be ironic if he were to discover, now that he was at last out from under Lionel's corporate thumb, that his father was right after all and that emotions _were_ a weakness. He'd never considered himself weak. He'd told himself for years that his love for Clark strengthened him; made him better than he was, a better person than he would have been otherwise. 

He still thought that, although he was too cynical to really believe that unrequited love was its own reward. Especially now that he knew it wasn't unrequited... but what should have been a cause for celebration had instead become the cause of so much pain that Lex wasn't certain he could bear it. 

He fetched himself a bottled water and wandered out onto the balcony. A Kansas spring storm had washed the heavy Metropolis air clean, leaving the emerging stars easily visible. By fate or chance his view faced the direction of Smallville, and Lex wondered if Clark had made it home okay... wondered if Clark could be looking back towards him. 

Probably not. Clark had made his position very clear. 

He stared out at the horizon and thought about their most recent conversation, replaying it in his head for the twenty-eighth time that day. 

//"Lana and I broke up," Clark said, his tone a study in resigned misery. Lex bit his own lip to make sure he didn't say something egregiously stupid like 'Again?' or 'What a surprise!' Once that urge subsided, he took a deep breath and spoke with what he thought was admirable sincerity. 

"I'm sorry to hear that, Clark." 

Only Clark didn't respond the way Lex expected. He looked at Lex from under his shaggy fringe of hair, eyes almost teal colored in the flickering light from the television, where'd they'd been watching 'Die Hard' on DVD while idly comparing the security at Nakatomi Plaza to that of LuthorCorp. 

"Are you, Lex?" 

Startled, Lex couldn't reply, because in truth, he _wasn't_ sorry. How could he be? Aside from his own feelings for Clark, he'd never believed Lana Lang was right for his friend. After what - five years? Six? - if Lana and Clark were going to have a successful relationship it should have happened by now... but Lex never allowed himself to say that to Clark. He didn't even like to think about it, because that automatically led to pointless wishes about having Clark in a relationship with _him_. 

Still, Clark had asked him a direct question, and Lex couldn't lie. He and Clark had a verbal contract that precluded lying to each other, dating back to Clark's eighteenth birthday when Clark, as a legal adult, had admitted his heritage and the truth of his abilities to Lex. In return, Lex had confessed the extent of his involvement with such various and sundry subjects as Hamilton, the Nicodemus project, Nixon, the incident at LuthorCorp that had resulted in Martha Kent and his father being held hostage, his secret 'Clark' room at the castle, and the fact that he'd been pretty much psychotic by the time he'd gotten off that damned island. He and Clark had argued bitterly, promptly forgiven each other and then agreed to a pact of mutual honesty, which Lex, in true Luthor style, had interpreted to permit a few small lies of omission. 

Which this wouldn't be, if he said anything that sounded like yes. 

"No, I don't suppose I am sorry, Clark," he answered slowly, hoping Clark could see the silent apology in his eyes. "What happened?" 

"I couldn't get it up for her, Lex," Clark said baldly, and the shock of hearing his usually shy friend admit something like that drowned out the actual significance of the words for several breathless moments- moments when Lex distantly wondered if his asthma was still a thing of the past. His chest felt that tight. -then the pain behind Clark's statement finally struck him. 

"I don't know what to say," he finally said, when what he really meant was 'I don't know what you _want_ me to say' because he had no idea... and since Lex had always prided himself on being able to manipulate people into hearing what they wanted to hear, he was at a serious loss. 

"You don't have to say anything. In fact, _don't_ say anything, because I need to tell you something and I'm only going to have the nerve to do it once." Clark's words were rushed to the point of being almost slurred; he was in such a hurry to get them out. 

Lex nodded, frightened now, as he rarely ever was. Frightened for Clark, that Clark's alien physiology was never going to allow his friend any sexual expression. Frightened for himself, that his own deeply buried hopes were about to be smashed into eternally futile smithereens, faint though those hopes already were. 

Clark reached out and grabbed his hand like a lifeline; grip just a little too hard for comfort. 

Nothing in the known universe would have induced Lex to complain. 

"I've known since- since that day at the bridge, the day you hit me -that I'm- I'm- God, I've practiced saying this a hundred times, why is it so-" Clark's eyes glittered with a sheen of tears, and Lex squeezed his hand firmly. He _had_ to say something to encourage Clark - he couldn't stand seeing his friend's pain and apprehension. 

"Clark, breathe. There is nothing, _nothing_ you could say to me that will change how I feel about you." 

Clark smiled at him, a smile that was so clearly miserable Lex felt his unreliable lungs freeze up again. 

"I know, Lex, and that's- that's the problem. Please-" Clark shook his head when Lex started to speak, so Lex subsided, waiting, heart full of dread. "I'm not blind, or as naive as I used to be. I know you love me... and I- I love you, too, and I'm pretty sure I'm gay... but we can't be together, Lex. Not like that." 

Lex felt cut in two, half of him overjoyed to hear Clark's declaration of love, and the other half shriveling in despair at the rest of Clark's words, desperate for some reason that would explain what he'd just heard. 

"Clark, if it's just a question of physical inability, that doesn't matter! I don't-" 

Clark put his free hand up to Lex's mouth, warm fingers halting Lex's frantic words. Lex closed his eyes, effectively silenced by that fleeting touch. It was all he could do to keep himself from putting his tongue out to see if his lips tasted like Clark after Clark pulled his hand away. 

"Please let me finish," Clark whispered to Lex's nod. "You know what I did the summer you were missing." 

Yes, Lex knew. He'd done his best to clean up Clark's most flagrant offenses; paid people off, bribed others, and in some cases bought the source of the debt outright, like the building where Clark's apartment had been, in order to keep Clark free of any legal complications. He remained silent; eyes open once again and fixed on Clark's, aching with the sorrow he could see there. 

"I've hurt my parents so much, Lex. When I blew up the ship I caused the accident that made my mom lose the baby. It almost killed Mom and Dad, too, and that's not the only time I risked their lives. Getting involved with Morgan Edge... and my dad almost died again just getting me to come home. I can't hurt them any more. I'm asking you to respect my decision," Clark said, his voice strained. "You have the power to change my mind, but I'm asking you as a friend, as someone who loves you, please don't try... and don't wait for me any more. Find someone you can be with. Be happy. It's what I want." 

"God, Clark." Lex looked away, unable to bear Clark's watery gaze, and unwilling to let Clark see his own instant tears. Half a dozen potential responses came to mind, ranging from 'Come on, Clark, your dad doesn't hate me THAT much anymore' to a strong urge to simply open his mouth and free the wail that he was fighting to strangle. 

Underneath it all, though, was a pure sense of wonder that Clark trusted him this much. Clark trusted him not to do something that would hurt the Kents - trusted him enough to tell him the truth, when it couldn't have been easy for Clark to say any of this, rehearsed or not. Clark trusted Lex enough to believe that Lex wouldn't overwhelm or manipulate him - had even told Lex that he would be vulnerable if Lex tried. 

That kind of trust was its own powerful miracle... and really, didn't Lex understand better than most the demands of parental expectations? 

He squeezed Clark's fingers and met those sad eyes. 

"I understand, Clark. I won't push, and I won't try to change your mind." 

Clark's expression lightened just a bit, betraying something close to awe as he reached up and touched Lex's damp cheek. Lex couldn't resist leaning into that gentle touch, but he regretted that instinctive motion when he saw Clark's face fall. 

"Promise me one thing?" He asked quietly, and it was Clark's turn to nod. "Promise me that you won't cut me out of your life. I can't- I don't think I can live without you. I'm afraid of who I'll be without you," Lex clarified with no small amount of difficulty, and finally knew what it meant to be 'painfully honest'. 

"I promise," Clark replied, his voice so steady Lex knew he was making it a vow. "I will always be your friend, Lex. Stuff of legends, remember? But I need time. I'm going to Smallville for a week before I start my summer internship at the Daily Planet, and I- I-" 

"It's okay. I'll stay- Actually, I need to be in Gotham by the end of the week. I have business with Wayne Enterprises, so..." Lex looked away, controlling his need to gasp against the pressure in his chest. "Whatever you need, Clark, for as long as you need. You- you call me, when you're ready." 

"Lex," and his name, in that tone, made his eyes burn. "I'm sor-" 

"Don't say it!" He ordered sharply, closer to screaming than he'd been since his days on the island and feeling just as broken inside. "Don't say it, Clark." 

Clark lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles, then left without another word.// 

Lex could still feel the imprint of those warm, so soft lips on his skin. 

Sinking into a crouch on the terrazzo floor, Lex put his hand up to his mouth, rocking back and forth until the need to weep subsided. 

He could do this, he could. He could survive this like he'd survived everything else. 

And maybe if he told himself that often enough, he'd eventually believe it. 

* * *

Jonathan sighed, absently checking the time as the coffee pot burbled through the last of its brewing cycle. Clark should have been down by now - he'd promised to help Jonathan transplant tomato seedlings from the greenhouses into the outdoor gardens now that the soil temperatures had warmed up - but he'd apparently overslept. 

Jon started up the stairs to Clark's room. Clark had insisted last night on getting up early to help, but Jonathan regretted having to wake him. It was all too obvious that Clark was sleeping poorly. Alien metabolism didn't prevent the bruise-colored shadows under his eyes, or counter his subdued, almost withdrawn attitude, and Jon was worried. 

Three days into Clark's 'vacation' and Clark had still managed to avoid mentioning either Lex Luthor or Lana, even when Martha mentioned that Lana and Chloe had come by the previous weekend. Clark had shrugged that off with a "that's nice, Mom" and said nothing more... which had prompted Martha, later that night, to extract from Jonathan a promise that he wouldn't wait much longer for 'the talk'. Jonathan, who'd been waiting for something that felt close to the right moment, had ruefully admitted he might just be procrastinating a bit. 

He still didn't have a clue how to begin... but circumstances sometimes have a way of arranging themselves, as he found when he opened Clark's door. 

Clark was obviously dreaming, one hand on his chest twitching restlessly as he frowned in his sleep and started mumbling. Jonathan listened shamelessly, face creasing with a frown of his own as Clark's words became clearer. 

"Mmm... no, Lex... please, don't..." 

Don't what, Jon wondered, quashing an automatic surge of anger in favor of moving nearer to the bed. The light from the hall provided just enough illumination for him to see Clark's face, and Jon felt his heart seize when he realized Clark's face was wet, tears seeping from beneath a pair of closed eyelids that seemed entirely too fragile to belong to his invulnerable son. What the hell had Luthor done to Clark? 

Clark whimpered, his hand reaching out. 

"No! Lex! Don't leave me!" He cried out, sitting bolt upright in the bed so abruptly that Jonathan was badly startled. "Oh, God," Clark whispered, burying his face in his hands and swinging his legs off the edge of the bed; his back to Jon, shoulders heaving. 

"Oh, God, Lex. I'm so fucking sorry," that shattered whisper continued, and Jonathan realized Clark didn't even know he was there. His thoughts in a confused whirl over what he'd heard, he cleared his throat and watched Clark's back stiffen. 

Clark swiped at his eyes and stood, turning to face Jonathan. He looked young and defenseless in his red plaid flannel boxers and plain white tee shirt - too young and too defenseless for the kind of conversation Jonathan was planning to have with him. His expression was already carefully arranged to betray no emotion, but his pallor was enough to give him away to a father's anxious gaze. 

"Oh, Dad, good morning. Guess I overslept, huh? It'll just take me a minute to get-" 

"Sit down, Clark," Jonathan ordered firmly, and when Clark made no immediate motion to comply, Jonathan came around and sat at the foot of the bed, patting a space beside him. 

"Look, Dad, I don't know what-" 

"Sit with me, son." 

With a dramatic sigh that reminded Jonathan rather forcibly of Clark's teenage years, Clark sank to the bed. For a few moments, they sat shoulder to shoulder in silence, then Jon decided to take the bull by the horns. 

"Having a bad dream?" 

"Yeah, I guess." 

"About Lex," Jonathan ventured next, quickly grasping Clark's hand in his and twining their fingers together so Clark wouldn't run out on their conversation. Clark went so still that Jonathan thought he must be holding his breath, then Clark exhaled slowly, plainly not sure how to respond. Jonathan gave Clark's hand a little squeeze, hoping to encourage him to speak. 

It didn't work. 

"What happened in the dream, son?" Jon prodded, keeping his voice low and soothing, the same way he'd done when Clark was five years old and would awaken crying in the night for no apparent reason. 

"It was just a dream, Dad. It's... not important," Clark said, shaking his head. Jonathan might have been willing to settle for that a week ago - might prefer to, if he were honest about it - but Martha was depending on him to get this right for Clark's sake. He wasn't about to let her down. 

"I think it _is_ important, Clark. You were crying in your sleep, calling out for Lex not to leave you. Did you and Lex have an argument?" 

"I'm not discussing Lex with you," came the rather frosty reply, and Jonathan felt himself flush; simultaneously embarrassed, irritated, and yes, undeniably hurt, despite knowing that he'd more than earned Clark's reluctance to talk about Lex. He took a deep breath and mentally dug in, never letting loose of Clark's hand despite his son's careful attempt to tug free. 

"I know I've never given you any reason to believe that I could be rational about your friendship with Lex. I'm sorry for that. Lex has done a lot for this family, and I'm not just talking about the deed to the farm, or the heart specialists he arranged for me to see a couple of years ago, or the truck. If something's wrong, I want to help, son." 

Clark's eyes closed for just an instant, then he gave Jonathan that clear-eyed stare that seemed to bore right through to a person's soul, his lips slowly curving into the saddest smile Jonathan had ever seen. 

"You can't help, Dad, but thanks for offering." 

"Maybe I can, Clark." Jonathan took another breath, the kind of cleansing breath a man takes before he undertakes a particularly strenuous task. "Lana had been drinking when she came out here with Chloe the other night. She said some things to your mother- things about you, about you and her together. She said-" 

"I can guess what she said, Dad!" Clark snapped, blushing heavily enough for Jon to feel the heat radiating against his own skin. "I'm sorry, but it's none of your business!" 

"It's my business if you're not happy, son," Jon said relentlessly, tightening his grip on Clark's hand. Of course, Clark was perfectly able to pull away from him, but not without hurting him, and Jonathan was counting on the fact that Clark wouldn't risk breaking his fingers. "Just hear me out. I have something to tell you, and something to ask you, and then we'll never discuss it again if that's what you want." 

Clark scrubbed at his face with his free hand then eventually nodded. 

"My mother had a brother named Nathan. I loved my uncle Nathan- I was named in his honor. When I was a kid, he lived in New York, but he would visit every six months or so. He always had time for me - he'd tell funny stories and bring presents and was just... a great guy, Clark. You would have loved him. 

"When I was fourteen, though, Nathan..." Jonathan's voice thinned, and he had to clear his throat. "Nathan hung himself. Ma took it really hard but Pa- Pa was... furious. He forbade us to ever talk about Nathan. We couldn't even mention his name. It wasn't until after Pa died and I went through his stuff that I found out what happened. Nathan had written to Ma- a suicide note, I guess. I don't know why Pa kept it. Anyway, Nathan was gay. His lover had been murdered, and he was being investigated as the prime suspect. He knew he was about to be arrested, and he knew he'd have no chance at all of proving his innocence... and between that and his grief over his lover's death, he decided he couldn't go on. 

"Pa was a good man, Clark, but he wasn't perfect. He was homophobic. He couldn't tolerate what Nathan was, how he lived or why he died, or what the circumstances of his death did to Ma... so he swept it all under a rug and made us all pretend that Nathan never existed." Taking a chance, Jonathan released Clark's hand and grabbed those sturdy shoulders instead, turning Clark to face him directly. "I don't share my father's opinions about gays. I realize we've never discussed this subject, but it was never because I had a problem with it. It sounds stupid now, but it just never occurred to me that I _needed_ to say anything to you. I guess I thought it was enough that I never said anything against them. I'm sorry for that." 

He waited, and when Clark didn't say anything, but merely gaped at him with eyes wide and wet, Jonathan screwed up his courage yet again. 

"You don't have to answer this question, as long as you know that it _will not_ make a difference to your mother and me if the answer is yes. You are our son, we love you, and that will never change. 

"Clark, are you gay?" 

* * *

He must still be dreaming, Clark decided numbly. His subconscious, not content with tormenting him with that nightmare about Lex walking out of his life for good, had decided to twist the knife a bit more by tempting him with what he knew he couldn't have. 

And besides, even if his father really had just sat here and as much as said it was okay if he was gay, what difference did it make? It didn't change the central problem, which was the identity of the man he loved. Sure, his father's attitude towards Lex had softened a lot over the years, but accepting Lex as his friend was a long way from accepting Lex as his lover, his life partner... and that, Clark believed, Jonathan Kent would never do. 

So on the off chance that this was really happening, he gave his dad a quick hug then arose to dress, still feeling quite odd inside. Detached from his life. Everything was muffled somehow, like nothing was real. 

He'd felt that way, in varying degrees of intensity, since he'd left Lex's penthouse. 

"Thanks, Dad, I appreciate what you've said... and I'm sorry about your uncle Nathan. Did the police ever find out who killed his lover?" 

"Yeah, actually," his dad said slowly, giving Clark an odd look that Clark ignored in favor of pulling on his jeans and toeing into his tennis shoes. "I took a trip to New York while I was in college to see what I could learn about the case. Turns out Nathan's lover was divorced. His ex wife confessed to killing him after Nathan's death." 

"So Nathan really was innocent," he said, vaguely relieved to discover that he must not have dreamed _everything_ he'd just heard. 

"Of course he was. Clark-" 

"That's great, Dad. I'll meet you in the east greenhouse, okay?" 

Clark started to leave his room, but a short, red-haired, robe-wrapped figure stepped into the doorway and stopped him with one work-worn hand to his chest. 

"Hold it right there, Clark Jerome Kent." 

"Mom." 

"My turn?" She asked his father with a wry smile, and Clark caught Jonathan Kent's answering grin from the corner of his eye. 

"Yeah, it's definitely time to put in the first string." 

His parents smiled at each other, the same smiles Clark had seen them exchange his whole life, full of love and acceptance and support. Solid, visible devotion; a bulwark against anything life threw their way. 

Something deep in his soul ached to think he'd never have that for himself. 

Worse than his own pain was his awareness of how badly he'd hurt Lex by finally acknowledging and then renouncing what they might have had together. He'd made Lex _cry_ , something he could barely wrap his mind around, even now... and he wasn't certain that Lex would ever forgive him once Lex had had a chance to think about it. 

He knew he'd never forgive himself. 

Before he had enough presence of mind to stop her, his mother had linked her arm through his and was leading him towards the stairs, a small general mobilizing her forces. 

"I don't know about you, but I could use some coffee, Clark," she said, towing him along until she had him parked in a kitchen chair and wondering, rather dazedly, exactly how she managed to _do_ that. 

"First, I want your word that you won't leave the room until I've had my say. Your word, Clark." 

He stared at the mug she'd set in front of him, then up into her face, tracing the gentle lines of time around mouth and eyes as well as a familiar implacable determination. 

"Sure, Mom. I won't leave until you've had your say... but I really don't want to have this conversation with you," he admitted with a shrug, watching as she sat beside him and sipped at her own coffee. 

"Why not?" Martha Kent charged, giving her son a level look. "If you're afraid of being embarrassed, get over it, you're an adult now. If you're afraid of embarrassing me, you're a little too late for that. I've been married to your father for over twenty five years. Sex is a fact of life, not something to blush and stammer over. Who do you think helps your father artificially inseminate the cows every year?" 

"Well, gee, when you put it that way," Clark said dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching involuntarily. His mother's eyes twinkled back at him, and his tension eased markedly when they both started giggling. For about two glorious seconds Clark forgot what he was and what he'd done, then the memories came crashing back down upon him along with the heartache. 

"I love you, Mom," Clark whispered, suddenly near tears. His mother leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, drawing his head to rest on her shoulder. 

"I know you do, sweetheart. And I love you, which is why I can't let you hide this from me, or from yourself. We've asked you to hide too much already." 

"I'm sorry," Clark said, pulling back as he answered her sad tone, and he almost cringed as the sorrow in her eyes increased. 

"You don't have anything to be- no, wait. Clark, explain to me _why_ you think you should be sorry." And there it was, the 'mom' voice, the one that wanted answers right now with no excuses, half-truths, or evasions allowed. 

"I tried... with Lana... because I wanted something about me to be... normal. You- you and dad... have already put up with so much weirdness. I didn't want my... orientation to be one more weird burden." Clark's words emerged brittle, cracking and threatening to shatter. His mother's face paled with his confession; her breath caught in an aborted sob before she drew on her own limitless well of strength. 

"Clark, setting aside the fact that we don't know what's normal for the people of Krypton, what have we ever done to make you believe that we think it's abnormal to be gay?" 

He thought about it for a few minutes, and the truth was, he couldn't remember a single instance of his parents ever saying anything negative about homosexuality. Even in the midst of his dad's worst rants about the Luthors, Jonathan Kent had never used that topic as a subject of derision or criticism, and certainly, some of Lex's more publicized history had left that avenue wide open to potential attack. And his mother rarely said anything bad about anybody, as near as he could recall, and never condemned people for what they were; only the hurtful actions they committed. 

He sighed, feeling fresh guilt at the realization that he'd underestimated his parents and made assumptions about them that were just as stereotypical as the ones he feared. 

"Now, tell me what the real problem is," his mother persisted gently, and he glanced at her sharply. 

"Me coming out isn't enough of a problem?" He asked, as near an actual admission as he could stand to get. His mother leveled 'that look' on him and Clark leaned back in his chair and took a large gulp of his coffee. 

"Is that what you're doing?" His dad asked casually as he walked into the kitchen and got himself a cup of coffee, then sat down at the table, too. 

Two pairs of bright eyes stared at him expectantly - eyes full of nothing but love and pride, the same emotions that had _always_ been in those eyes when they looked at him, reminding him of just how lucky he was to have Martha and Jonathan Kent as parents. 

He really should have known better than to think they'd reject him, Clark supposed, but he still doubted that they could as easily accept his feelings for Lex. 

"Yeah, I guess. Maybe. I don't know." He shifted uneasily in his chair as his face heated with a blush. "It's not like I've- I haven't- I mean, I- Well, I haven't... you know. With a man." 

"But you want to," his father deduced. Clark groaned and covered his face, but not before he saw the rueful smile his parents exchanged. Shouldn't he have realized, sometime between 'Just hear me out' and 'Now, tell me what the real problem is' that his parents weren't going to settle for less than full disclosure? 

"Alea iacta est," he mumbled to himself fatalistically, thought of Lex and what it could potentially mean to their lives if there was a chance his parents could accept them as a couple, then straightened his back and proudly lifted his chin. 

"I'm in love with Lex. I have been for years." 

* * *

Lex was so far beyond drunk that his lips were numb. In fact, he was numb all over. As this was precisely the condition that he'd been aiming for when he'd started drinking, he toasted himself with another graceless gulp from the almost empty bottle of scotch he was carrying and continued to wobble along the starkly shadowed streets of pre-dawn Gotham. 

Accustomed as he was to Kansas liquor laws, Lex hadn't realized that the drinking establishments in Gotham stayed open after 2 AM - were open all night, actually - and since he'd carefully boxed up his watch - the only personal possession he had that meant anything to him - and left it with his hotel's desk clerk on his way out, he'd been just a little surprised when he'd stumbled outside several hours later to see the sky beginning to gray in the east. 

Good thing he was done with his business meetings, since he'd spent the night getting smashed. Bulletproof. Toasted. Blitzed. Blotto. Plastered. Polluted. Pissed. Loaded. Wasted... yeah, that was a good term. The _best_ term. 

He _was_ wasted - a wastrel - a waste. 

Dizzily shaking his head at his regrettably blatant self-pity, Lex drank some more, hoping his metabolism would let him sustain this wonderful numbness just a little bit longer, at least until he figured out where the hell he was and how to find his bed. 

He was in a crappy neighborhood, he knew that much; however, in his opinion that described about eighty percent of Gotham City. He'd always hated the local brand of architecture - it tended to be as gloomy and overly dramatic as the Dark Knight who defended its alleys and battlements, and as soulless a place as any he'd ever been. Including Castle Luthor when he'd first moved in... although the castle had managed to become home to him after meeting Clark, he noted regretfully. It hadn't even looked too bad after the tornado, when his architects and interior designers had finished the repairs. Almost cozy, in a too-large-and-drafty sort of way. 

Oh, well. Lex couldn't say that he much cared where he was. The hotel would mail his watch to Clark if he failed to return to claim it, and what difference did it make, anyway? 

What difference did _anything_ make? 

Lex wandered past another bar; a genuine dive compared to the place where he'd been. Music blared through an open door and he paused to listen for a moment, recognizing the song as one that had been moderately popular a few years ago. The singer's breathy vocals mourned. 

"'I know you think that I shouldn't still love you, I'll tell you that.  
But if I didn't say it, well I'd still have felt it. Where's the sense in that?'" 

There _was_ no sense in that, Lex thought wryly as the lyrics threatened to revive everything he'd been working so hard to anesthetize. He wished he could just be angry with Clark. He wanted to be - wanted to blame Clark for bringing everything out in the open, disrupting the status quo, dissolving the fragile facade of mere friendship that had protected their deeper feelings. One short conversation had ripped the scab off a half-healed too-sensitive wound, and now Lex felt like he was bleeding inside. 

He'd tried so hard. He'd gone so far as to put an ocean between them, but even a year overseas hadn't dimmed his feelings... and he rather doubted now that anything would. 

Pouring the last of the scotch down his throat, Lex then pitched the bottle into the street, letting the crash of breaking glass drown out the music as he wavered onward. 

He'd only gone a few steps when several figures materialized out of the shadows and surrounded him. 

"Hey, man, we don't appreciate it when punkass drunks break bottles on our streets!" A rough voice threatened as one of the gang got in Lex's face, a squat little olive-skinned man who was almost as broad as he was tall. 

"So? Do something about it," Lex drawled as muscle memory - trained by years of fencing and martial arts instruction - prompted him to balance on the balls of his feet, ready to strike. The man reached for him, and Lex knocked his arm away with one hand and delivered a hard punch with the other, knocking the shorter man to the ground. One of the others ran to the man's side, while the remaining four or eight - Lex wasn't sure he could rely on his eyesight - circled around him threateningly. 

"Recedite, plebes! Gero rem imperialum!" He ordered mockingly, already moving into a new defensive position. Two more made to grab at him, and Lex, reacting with an astonishing degree of fluidity and coordination considering the amount of alcohol in his blood, took one down with a backwards elbow to the jaw and completed the motion in a spinning back kick that eliminated the second. "Caesar si veveret, ad remum dareris!" 

"That's enough!" A rough whiskey voice interrupted the next rush, as in a swirl of black cape and mystery, the Dark Knight himself landed in the middle of the melee. He turned towards Lex's first victim, shaking his head. "Eduardo, I'll take care of Mister Luthor if you will clean up the rest of this mess." 

"Luthor- That's all we wanted _him_ to do, Batman, honest. We weren't trying to start nothing," the man said a bit resentfully as Lex watched, bright eyed, bouncing with the urge to hit someone else. "He throwed a bottle in the street. You know we ain't down with that littering shit." 

"Ut si!" Lex said, and Batman shook his head, something Lex and the unlikely band of street enforcers watched with varying degrees of bemusement. 

"Luthor, are you aware you're speaking Latin?" Batman asked with no small degree of exasperation, taking Lex by one arm. Lex was not so impaired that he thought he had a chance of resistance, but he was still buzzing enough to want to push the Dark Knight's buttons a bit. 

"Vah! Denuone Latine loquebar? Me ineptum." 

"Christ. How drunk _are_ you?" Batman muttered, hauling Lex off to where the Batmobile was parked in a nearby alley. Lex politely waited until they were both belted inside the sleek, low-slung vehicle then answered his oldest friend's question, tossing in a half-hearted leer for good measure. 

"Not drunk enough, Bruce. Not nearly drunk enough." 

Bruce Wayne, Gotham's Batman, rolled his eyes behind his cowl, put the car in gear and roared out onto the street. Lex relaxed into the leather upholstery and watched the city fly by, appreciating the view a little more as the pale dawn sun softened the harsh architecture. They passed the corporate offices of Wayne Enterprises, where Lex had done good, mutually beneficial business with Bruce yesterday, and he made a small sound at the way the sun limned the edges of the building in pinks and golds. 

"Don't puke," Bruce ordered tersely, and Lex sighed. 

Fortunately - or not - he felt no need to puke. He was sobering up entirely too soon for his liking, thrust unwillingly back into a reality too painful to tolerate. 

Damn his metabolism, anyway. It took him some serious effort to become intoxicated to a point past caring, and even more effort to stay that way. Drugs would have been more efficient, perhaps, but Lex had left that life behind years ago. 

He kept silent as Bruce bypassed his hotel in favor of taking him towards Wayne Manor, knowing nothing he could say would dissuade Bruce once the other man had settled on a course of action. It wasn't until they'd driven through the side of the mountain - a process that made Lex grateful he rarely puked - and parked inside the cave under Bruce's estate that he spoke to his friend. 

"Why'd you bring me here, Bruce?" 

"You and I are going to get some sleep, then you're going to tell me what in the hell is wrong with you, Lex. I knew something was bothering you yesterday and I let it go. That won't happen again." 

Lex lifted a wry eyebrow, reflecting on the fact that Bruce was one of three living people in the world - Clark and Martha Kent being the other two - to whom he would accede to such peremptory demands... but then, he'd known Bruce Wayne almost all his life. Not only had the Luthors and the Waynes traveled in the same social circles back when both men were small children, he and Bruce had attended the same preparatory school in their teens, although not at the same grade level. Bruce was two years older than Lex. Both of them, however, understood all too well what it was like to lose parents; Bruce, orphaned upon his parents' murders, and Lex, with his own mother's death from a heart condition, a tragedy that left Lex virtually orphaned too for all the care he got from Lionel. 

Up until shortly before Lex's exile to Smallville, Lex and Bruce had remained fairly close friends, but distance and lack of contact had taken its toll, as well as Bruce's immersion into his crime-fighting alter-ego. Their contact over the last six or so years had been primarily business-related, as LexCorp and Wayne Enterprises participated in several mutually lucrative ventures. 

Still, Lex was willing to cut Bruce a lot of slack based on their history. They'd slept together on occasion but had never been lovers - Bruce had a definite preference for slinky women - each supporting the other through some extremely rough times with simple physical comfort. 

Waiting patiently while Bruce stripped off the Bat suit, Lex rather ruefully thought he could use some comfort. Soon enough, he was following Bruce upstairs into the manor itself, where Alfred Pennyworth greeted him with a pleased smile. 

"Master Lex! How good to see you. It's been far too long," the Wayne family retainer said warmly, and Lex permitted himself a genuine smile in return. 

"Thank you, Alfred. It's good to see you, too." 

"Alfred, can you arrange to have Lex's belongings picked up from the Plaza and brought here? He'll be staying with us for a while," Bruce said decisively, and to Alfred's credit, that good man looked for Lex's nod before agreeing. 

"I'll see to it right away, sir." 

"Thank you. Come on, Lex." 

And once again Lex found himself taken by one arm and dragged along in Bruce's wake, until he was summarily stripped to his boxer-briefs and tucked into Bruce's bed. Bruce crawled in next to him, and Lex suddenly felt like a kid again, huddling under the covers with Bruce while their parents partied downstairs. 

"Bruce-" 

"Shut up and go to sleep, Lex. You can tell me later." 

"I am tired," Lex whispered sadly, not surprised when a comforting arm drew him against the warm body of his friend. 

"I know," Bruce said. It was the last thing Lex remembered hearing before he drifted off. 

* * *

"I'm in love with Lex. I have been for years." 

Jonathan Kent looked at his son and laughed to himself, grateful as he always was that his wife was such a level headed _good_ woman who loved him enough to prepare him for this eventuality. Clark looked simultaneously terrified, defiant, anxious, hopeful, and hopeless. Deep in those hazel eyes Jon could also see a wounded sorrow that approached genuine despair, and his heart ached as he realized his son really didn't expect anything positive from him in response to this news. 

He remembered being a child who was afraid of his own father's stony rage. He'd never wanted his child to be afraid to tell him the truth. Never wanted his child to be afraid of his reactions. Never wanted his child to be afraid of _him_. 

"I see," he said mildly, rather enjoying the shock his reaction provoked on Clark's face. 

"That's it? That's all you're going to say? No lectures about how dangerous Lex is, or how you can't trust a Luthor?" Clark sounded so close to outraged that Jonathan had to bite back a grin, avoiding his wife's eyes for that very reason. 

"Can't always help who you fall in love with," he noted calmly. 

"That's true," Martha said. "Although Dad always said it was just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor man." 

"He would say that," Jonathan muttered, ducking his head so Clark couldn't see his lips twitching. "No denying Lex is plenty rich," he added wryly, then made the mistake of catching Martha's eye. They burst out laughing, hands reaching for each other from long habit. 

"I can't believe- you- You _knew_ ," Clark realized slowly. "You already _knew_ , and you don't hate me?" 

"Oh, Clark," Martha gasped, that sweet little moment of levity gone as if it had never happened. "Of course we don't hate you," she said, and Jonathan slid from his chair to kneel at his son's side. He knew, too well, that he'd caused this- caused his own child to doubt in the certainty of their love. Heart clutched in his chest, he took Clark's hands in his and squeezed. 

"Our love for you is not conditional, Clark. You are our son, and we love you, no matter what. Maybe that's something we haven't told you enough. Yes, I thought there might be something between you and Lex. I guess I hoped it was a crush that would just go away- not because I think there's something wrong with you loving a man, but because I didn't trust Lex not to hurt you emotionally. I'm still going to worry about that, but I'd worry no matter who you were with." 

"I thought you'd gotten over your feelings for Lex," Martha put in, leaning forward to put her hands over Jonathan's. "It wasn't until Chloe and Lana came by last week that I realized you might still be attracted to him. They were rather talkative. Lana was upset and they were both pretty well lit," she added with a faint grin at the colloquialism that fit that situation so well. 

Clark grimaced, patently uncomfortable with the notion of his mother and a drunken Chloe and Lana discussing his 'problem', but he shook it off and met Jonathan's eyes. Fresh pain was brewing in the back of his son's eyes, and Jon tensed, worried. 

"I saw Lex just before I came home and told him- told him-" Clark took a shuddering breath. "I told him I love him, but that we couldn't be together like that. I told him to stop waiting for me and find somebody he could be happy with. I hurt him so bad that he- he cried, dad." 

Jonathan blinked, marveling a bit at exactly how badly Lex must have been hurt to lose control of that perfect Luthor facade. He cupped one callused hand under Clark's face and smiled, because _this_ was something he knew could be fixed. 

He hoped. 

"Then you'll just have to find him and tell him you were wrong, son," he said firmly, rewarded beyond all measure with the smile that dawned on Clark's face. 

* * *

"I'm in love," Lex said much later, after a delectable late lunch that he'd had to force himself to pick at. He wasn't precisely hung over, but he didn't feel a bit good, either; general malaise being the most accurate way to describe his condition. 

From across the table Bruce's regard was night-sea dark and steady. 

"Ordinarily, I'd be happy for you, but given your recent behavior I assume this isn't cause for celebration." 

"You know what Dad says. Love is a weakness. A distraction. I'm not supposed to believe in love, let alone fall victim to it myself," Lex said mockingly and watched Bruce's lips tighten. 

"I know you don't believe that bullshit." 

Lex sighed. 

"I'm starting to wish he was right." 

He proceeded to tell Bruce everything, with the exceptions of Clark's actual origins and abilities - starting with Clark saving his life after he'd run off the bridge in Smallville, to their enduring friendship, to the more recent, and most traumatic event. By the end of this recitation, Bruce's face was positively glowering. 

"Let me get this straight. He claims to love you but right after he tells you, he announces that you can never be together because of his _parents_? How old is this kid, fourteen?" 

"It does sound like the Montagues and Capulets, doesn't it?" Lex replied with a weary smirk. "He just turned twenty one... and his parents are very special people, Bruce. I can't blame him for not wanting to hurt them. _I_ don't want to hurt them." 

"Lex, you know-" 

"I know. I'll be all right. I'm not going to do myself in _a la_ Romeo." 

"That's not how it looked this morning," Bruce said grimly. Lex shrugged. 

"I won't do that again. It didn't help anyway," he admitted with a tired sigh. "I'll just have to get over it- over _him_." Lex was quite sure that was not possible, something Bruce immediately confirmed, like Lex didn't already know. 

"Once you love, you've never stopped loving anybody in your life. Not even your damned father." 

"Then it's high time I learned how, wouldn't you say?" 

Bruce shook his head and changed the subject, much to Lex's gratitude. 

"I've got a meeting with my accountants at three, then I'm meeting Selina at Pour Des Anges for an early dinner. We're supposed to be going to the opera afterwards. Why don't you come with us?" 

Lex almost laughed, imagining Selina Kyle's likely reaction to his presence. It wouldn't be pretty, that was certain. 

"You're a good friend, Bruce, but I'll pass. I think I'll stay in and catch up on my sleep. I need to head back to Metropolis tomorrow, anyway." 

"You could stay a few days," Bruce offered lightly, but the tone of his voice made it clear he knew Lex was going to refuse. 

"Maybe next time. I'll see you in the morning before I leave." 

Bruce held himself to a nod, giving Lex's shoulder a light squeeze as he left the room. Lex pushed his plate away and yawned involuntarily. He really _was_ tired - apparently his drinking binge had taken more out of him than he'd anticipated; more proof that he was no longer as young or as resilient as he'd been in his party-till-you-drop-dead days. 

Ignoring the fact that his fatigue was more emotional than physical, Lex made his way back up to Bruce's room, knowing that Bruce would probably stay at Selina's tonight. He stripped and slid between the sheets of the huge four-poster, giving his limp cock a rueful smile. No joy for little Lex, he thought wryly. What would Clark say if he confessed that he'd been celibate since Helen? 

Sometimes he wondered if he'd ever have sex - want sex - again if he couldn't have Clark... but that was a question that was too depressing to ponder. 

Soul-weary, Lex surrendered to sweeter dreams. 

* * *

Bruce Wayne flew straight to Smallville, of course, not surprised that the small airport had a strip long enough for his plane. Lionel Luthor had probably financed that project when he'd had the castle shipped over from Scotland years ago, and Bruce was happy to take advantage of it, particularly for a cause that Lionel would never approve. Bruce was always cognizant of the advantages money bought, like owning one's own Learjet and having one's own pilot's license - and being able to personally deliver a timely ass-kicking was a definite advantage. 

Especially since Selina would be kicking _his_ ass for breaking their date. At least Dick was out of the country and wouldn't be there to laugh at him about it, he thought with a rare, real smile... which faded as he once again turned the current problem over in his mind. 

Everything Lex had said about the Kents indicated to Bruce that they loved their son very much. Bruce couldn't imagine that they would want him to be unhappy for the rest of his life. Even if they couldn't accept their son's sexual preference, Bruce still felt he had to try. 

He just hoped Lex would forgive him if it all went to shit. 

At the airport, he picked up the sweet little convertible Thunderbird he'd arranged to have waiting on him, delivered fresh from the local dealership's showroom floor. Unlike Lex, Bruce held no disdain towards domestic vehicles, and he was satisfied with the car's appearance and handling as he drove through the town itself. 

Bruce was quite sure Lex didn't realize it, but there was nothing he wouldn't do for Lex. Lex Luthor, despite his youth, had been one of two people - Alfred was the other - to help keep him together after his parents were murdered - although psychologists might quibble over his definition of 'together'. Two boys damaged beyond the ability to cry and with no arms to hold them; they'd learned to hold each other, instead, on those occasions when it all got to be too much. And Lex had helped him establish his Batman persona - LexCorp providing some anonymity in research and development that Wayne Enterprises lacked under the circumstances. 

Bruce had even occasionally entertained the idea of taking Lex as a lover, even though he genuinely preferred women sexually. It wasn't like making love to Lex would have been a sacrifice, gender aside. It was impossible to see Lex and not automatically think of sex, given his friend's hypnotic grace and powerful personality. That Lex never considered him as a sexual partner, however, Bruce knew. He also knew how much Lex valued their friendship... and it was as Lex's friend that he was here to act. 

He couldn't bear the idea of seeing that misery in Lex's eyes again. It had puzzled Bruce that Lex was more emotionally vulnerable now than he'd been at twenty, sixteen, or even ten... and Bruce knew now that Clark Kent was somehow responsible for the scouring away of Lex's barriers. The Lex who'd been so unguarded this morning was not a Lex that Bruce had ever seen, although he wasn't entirely certain that he disapproved. 

The Kent farm was easy to find - Bruce never went anywhere without a GPS. He pulled up to the comfortable looking home and fearlessly knocked on the front door, idly noting that he would rather be facing a dozen Jokers than one pair of overprotective parents. 

A lovely, red-haired woman answered the door, peering at him through the screen. 

"May I help you?" 

"Mrs. Kent? My name is Bruce Wayne. I'd like to talk to you and your husband, if I may." 

A brief look of surprise was quickly controlled, and Bruce Wayne's estimation of Martha Kent went up a notch when she smiled and opened the screen door for him. 

"Of course. Won't you come in, Mr. Wayne?" 

The Kent house was very much a home, Bruce thought as he followed Martha Kent inside. Warm, welcoming, casually country without being cliched... and the lady of the house was just as pleasant, smiling at him as she motioned him into the kitchen. He respected the fact that she behaved comfortably around him, and wondered if that was due to long association with the Luthors or just her natural personality. Bruce, who also remembered Lillian Luthor's serene and loving nature, not to mention her fair complexion and red hair, began to understand why Lex was so reluctant to do anything that might distress Martha Kent in any way, even at the expense of his own happiness. 

A tall, tanned man with silvering blond hair stood as he entered the room, inspecting him curiously. Bruce inspected right back, taking in the marks of time and weathering. Jonathan Kent looked less forbidding than he'd expected, based on Lex's description, but there was no denying the steel underlying that faded blue gaze. 

"Jonathan, this is Bruce Wayne, who wants to talk to us. Mr. Wayne, my husband Jonathan Kent. Jonathan and I just finished supper, Mr. Wayne. Would you care to join us for coffee and pie?" 

"If that would be some of your homemade pie, Mrs. Kent, I would be delighted, and please, call me Bruce," Bruce said, hiding a grin as the couple exchanged a startled glance. 

"I didn't realize Martha's pie had become so famous," Jonathan said in a suspicious drawl, his gaze hard on Bruce as the two of them firmly shook hands. 

"We have a mutual friend who sings Mrs. Kent's praises," Bruce replied smoothly, waiting until Martha was seated before taking his own chair. 

"Lex," Jonathan guessed with a sigh, sinking into his own seat. Bruce nodded. 

"Are you here because of Lex, Mis- Bruce?" Martha Kent asked, gracefully serving Bruce a slice of apple pie and a cup of black coffee and silently indicated the cream and sugar at the center of the table. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Kent-" 

"Martha, please." 

"Martha, then." Bruce hid the pang that speaking his own mother's name caused him by sampling what was truly divine pie, and gave Mrs. Kent an approving nod. "Lex didn't exaggerate," he remarked, momentarily ignoring Mr. Kent's glower in favor of Martha's sweet features. "I guess you could say I'm here on Lex's behalf, although he doesn't know about this visit." 

Shrewd eyes peered at him closely, leaving him with the unusual sensation of being weighed, measured, and approved... on sufferance. 

"Why _are_ you here, Bruce?" 

Bruce decided he'd just jump right on in, and hope to come out covered in diamonds. It wasn't his usual M.O. as Bruce Wayne, but his alter ego was somewhat familiar with the process. 

"I've learned some information about your son Clark," he began, taken aback when Mrs. Kent paled markedly. Mr. Kent's jaw assumed a rigidity he'd previously witnessed only in his own mirror, making Bruce rethink the wisdom in his decision to meddle. 

Shit. Maybe Lex had been right, after all, and these people wouldn't tolerate- 

"What information, Mr. Wayne?" Jonathan Kent asked, and Bruce had seen that particular expression many times on people who were about to attempt murder. 

The front door opened with a slam and a male voice called out. 

"Mom? Whose T-bird is that? Do you still know how to get hold of Lionel? Lex has checked out of his hotel and nobody at LexCorp knows where-" 

Bruce Wayne had seen a lot of 'beautiful people' in his life. His social circle was full of them; the glitterati, the rich and famous, all impeccably dressed, sleek and as perfect as money and breeding could make them. Bruce himself was one of them, as was Lex... but Bruce had never seen any human as naturally, effortlessly beautiful as the young man who stopped short in the doorway and stared at him. Long legs, broad shoulders, and plenty of muscles moving under jeans and flannel - tousled black hair and golden skin and eyes that ranged from green to blue to gray as the light hit them, bone structure that could cut glass, and a mouth that inspired daydreams - Bruce abruptly appreciated just why Lex Luthor behaved so uncharacteristically when it came to Clark Kent, especially when he recalled Lex's paeans to the young man's good nature. 

Astonished right out of his usual impassive demeanor, Bruce Wayne did something he hadn't done since childhood and blurted the first words in his head. 

"Holy shit, no wonder Lex is in love with you." 

Without quite understanding how it happened, Bruce found himself yanked out of his chair and held by the shoulders in an implacable grip, and was even more shocked to discover that he couldn't free himself. 

"Do you know where Lex is?" The young man demanded, plainly distraught, while Jonathan Kent yelled "Clark!" It was Martha Kent who restored order, calmly putting a hand on her son's arm with a quiet demand. 

"Clark, put Mr. Wayne down, and let him finish telling us whatever it was he came here to say." 

Released, Bruce plopped unceremoniously back into his seat and hid a grimace, knowing that tomorrow he'd have finger-shaped bruises on his shoulders. 

"You said you had information, Mr. Wayne?" 

"I think I already let it slip," Bruce mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh before looking up to meet Martha Kent's compassionate gaze. "I've known Lex Luthor since I was five years old," he added unwillingly, wondering how it was that she was so easy to talk to. "I've never seen him so... unwrapped... as I did this morning. I picked him up off the streets of Gotham, so drunk he was yelling insults in Latin at a street gang." 

In his peripheral vision, Bruce saw Clark go pale, but he kept his attention on Mrs. Kent and deliberately ignored the way Jonathan's jaw tightened again. 

"Lex says you're a good woman, the type of mother who values her child's happiness above her own, and he would never hurt you. I thought if I- I could-" Bruce shook his head, lips twisting into a rueful smile. He _couldn't_ do it. _He_ couldn't look into the eyes of this woman who bore his mother's name as well as that haunting similarity to Lillian Luthor, and risk upsetting her. 

No wonder Lex couldn't, or Martha's own son, for that matter. 

"Never mind." Bruce rose and straightened to his full height, which put him eye to eye with the younger Kent. He wasn't exactly proud of himself for being glad that Clark Kent looked just as unhappy as Lex. "Lex is at my home. I'll tell him you asked about him." 

* * *

"Wait!" Clark said frantically, trying to step in front of Bruce Wayne, who slipped around him with the smooth, effortless grace he'd come to associate with Lex. 

"Mr. Wayne- Bruce. Please. You're obviously worried about Lex, and so are we. Tell him to come home. He should be here with his family," his mother said quietly, sincerely. 

Clark shot his mother a grateful glance as Bruce Wayne hesitated, but his relief was momentary as Wayne somehow managed to turn and loom over him with a startlingly menacing glare. He was smart enough to realize that Lex must have confided in Wayne about what had happened between them, but beneath his hurt at that thought was his own deep, ever-present regret at having caused Lex so much pain. 

"He is with family. Me." Bruce Wayne announced shortly and stalked out, closing the door with a politely contemptuous little snick. 

Clark ran out after him, barely remembering to keep to normal - if fast - human speed, and caught Wayne at his car. 

"Mr. Wayne! You don't understand-" 

"I understand enough. I understand that you're hurting my friend. I even understand why," Bruce Wayne said with a jerk of his head towards the house. "I don't have to like it," he added in a growl as he opened the driver's side door. Clark slammed the door shut, absently hoping he hadn't left an imprint of his hand on the shiny metal. 

"I came out to them this morning. They know about Lex, Mr. Wayne. I've been trying to find Lex to tell him," Clark said desperately, unable to prevent the damning blush that rose to his cheeks at the idea of telling a total stranger something so personal. He won himself a piercing stare that gradually softened to something less than lethal, and made a mental note that, invulnerable or not, he never wanted to have this man as an enemy. 

"Call me Bruce. Want a ride to Gotham?" Wayne offered, and Clark sighed inwardly. He could have run - or flown - to Gotham faster than Bruce Wayne could get him there, but beating Bruce home would have definitely raised some difficult questions, and one thing Lex was adamant about was Clark protecting his secrets. Lex was actually worse than his father on that subject. 

Remembering his dad's astonished face when Lex, who'd been unaware of Jonathan's nearby presence, had jumped down his throat for being careless about running between Smallville and Met was enough to make Clark smile... something that Bruce Wayne observed with a faint smile of his own. 

"Thanks... Bruce. Just give me two minutes to tell my parents I'm leaving," Clark said, and dashed into the house. 

"Mom! Dad! I'm-" 

"Going to Gotham," his dad finished, grinning at him as his mother came down the stairs and pushed a small duffel bag into his hands then gave him a hug and kiss. 

"That Bruce Wayne is a lot different from the way the papers portray him," Jonathan remarked as he added a second hug. "He's kinda like Lex that way, I guess. You bring Lex home soon, son, so your mother and I can beat you both for not talking to us about this sooner, you hear?" 

"I hear, dad. Thanks," Clark whispered, squeezing his dad before rushing back out. "Love you both!" 

"We love you too, sweetheart," he heard his mom murmur as he vaulted into the passenger seat, stowing his bag behind him. Bruce put the car in gear without a word and away they roared, but Clark's super-hearing, still focused on his parents, was working a bit too efficiently. 

"Do you think Lex will forgive him, Jonathan?" 

"I hope so, Martha. It'll say something if he does, because I didn't think forgiveness was in the Luthor dictionary." 

"They've already forgiven each other a lot," his mom pointed out next, and Clark had to grin at his dad's familiar chuckle. 

"Do you remember that stupid line from 'Love Story', Martha?" 

"'Love means never having to say you're sorry'," his mother quoted with a smile that Clark could hear. "I always thought that was bullshit." 

"Martha Kent! Do I need to wash your mouth out with soap, woman?" 

"Now, is that really what you want to put in my mouth, Jonathan Kent?" 

"Okay, now entering the realm of TMI," Clark muttered to himself as he abruptly focused his attention on his immediate surroundings, aware of Bruce Wayne's curious sideways glance. "Sorry, thinking out loud," he added, unable to help the slight flush that heated his face. 

Thankfully, Bruce merely offered a one-shoulder shrug and kept driving. 

Thirty minutes later saw them in the air, jet stream at their tail. Clark had been more than a little surprised to find out that Bruce Wayne was piloting them himself, having motioned Clark into the co-pilot's seat. Flying in a plane was still very much a novelty for Clark, who'd only recently learned to control his own aerial abilities - as well as his dislike of heights. He'd seen enough TV to recognize when Bruce put the Learjet on autopilot, though, and observed the speculative look in the older man's eyes without comment when Bruce shifted to face him. 

For several long minutes they stared at each other appraisingly; then Clark decided he had to know at least one thing for certain. 

"Lex told you what happened between us." 

"He did," Bruce confirmed, gaze gone glacial, as if reminded of how pissed off he was supposed to be. "Do you have any idea how fortunate you are?" He asked coldly. 

"I don't understand." 

"Don't you? Alexander Luthor is in love with you, which means he'll love you forever, because that's the only way Lex knows how to love. I hope you're up to it. I hope you're not stringing him along with this sexual identity crisis crap, because if I ever see Lex hurt like I saw him this morning, I will find a way to make you suffer, whether Lex likes it or not." 

"Are you and Lex... involved?" Clark dared to ask, his pride rather stung. 

"We aren't lovers," was the terse reply. 

And seeing the painful questions in Clark Kent's eyes, Bruce unbent enough to tell him a story that took them from the clear skies of Kansas to the grimy overcast pall that hung over Gotham City: a story about two very little boys who were expected to merely keep each other entertained, until an unlikely friendship evolved that included equal quantities of mischief, play, and hugs... which then altered again under the pressure of illness and death. 

First there was Bruce's parents' murder, then Lex's exposure to the Smallville meteorite strike, then Lillian Luthor's death of heart failure. In short, unexpectedly descriptive sentences, Bruce quietly explained quite a few things about Lex that Clark hadn't really known, and didn't seem to realize how much he was giving away about himself in the process, including his own guilt for the way Lex had rebelled when Lex hit his teen years - their friendship cooling once boarding school was behind them, and never again attaining quite the same level of closeness... until this morning, when Bruce had found Lex wandering drunk in the streets of Gotham. 

Clark kept his mouth shut and made his own observations. Of course he knew Bruce's history from the constant publicity that surrounded the billionaire playboy, but his father was right. Bruce Wayne was nothing like what the media portrayed. There was nothing about him that suggested philanthropic dilettante or spoiled sybarite - the man was _deep_ and holding secrets, and Clark began to appreciate what Lex had meant about doing anything for his friends. Just as Lex had kept Clark's confidences, so Lex did the same for Bruce Wayne... to the point of never even mentioning to Clark how well two of the wealthiest men in America actually knew each other. 

And Clark could understand that, but still feel hurt by the thought of Lex seeking comfort from someone other than him. 

His thoughts were interrupted when Bruce let out a curse, flipping the plane's radio frequency to another setting. Focusing his hearing on the tinny sounds coming from Bruce's headset, Clark listened, puzzled, as an unfamiliar voice uttered a singsong warning in a ridiculous rhyme. 

"When the bat's away, the mice will play, and cats won't live 'til the dawn of day! Men can't fly and lovers die while the last one standing will be I!" 

"Who _is_ that?" Clark asked impulsively, but Bruce ignored him, long-fingered hands playing over the autopilot controls. "Bruce?" 

When Bruce still refused to answer, Clark picked up the co-pilot's headset and listened, frowning, as the odd little rhyme was repeated, this time with an addition. 

"Riddle me this, Brrrrrrrruuuuuuceeeeeey! What's red, pureed, and found inside a tin can? Give up? Don't worry, you'll find out soon!" 

"A riddle?" Clark felt his eyebrows climb up his forehead, and he reached out and grabbed Bruce's wrist gently. "Is that _the_ Riddler?" Bruce jerked his hand away with an angry glare. 

"Yeah, that's _the_ Riddler. God damn it. Go back and look in the cabinet under the long sofa. There should be parachutes stowed there." 

"Parachutes!" Clark gasped, but slid the headset off and hurried to do as he was told. 

It took him only a few seconds of X-ray vision to determine that there wasn't a single parachute to be had in the entire plane. He returned to the cockpit to find Bruce on a cell phone, talking in a low, urgent tone that was easy for Clark to overhear. 

"Selina, he has to be bugging your place, otherwise he wouldn't have known-" Bruce glanced over at Clark as Clark took the co-pilot's seat once again. "The chutes?" He mouthed, and Clark merely shook his head with a near soundless whisper, appreciating Bruce's need to not alarm the mysterious Selina. 

"No chutes." 

Bruce grimaced. 

"Just get out of that apartment and keep yourself safe, Selina. Please. Go to Lex at the Manor and make sure Alfred's all right. I don't know what else Edward has up his damned spandex sleeve. I've got to go." 

Bruce flipped the phone shut and handed it to Clark just as the Lear lurched. Bruce again punched at buttons and pulled on the stick, all to no apparent avail, and Clark breathed in slowly against the sudden nauseating drop. 

"Call Lex. Speed dial one." 

"What?" 

"I don't have control of this aircraft. Edward Nygma does, and he intends to bring it down in the middle of Gotham." Bruce pointed out the window, where the lights of Gotham were growing closer, brightly glittering adornments for the tall buildings of downtown. "I'm going to cut power to the engine and try for a belly landing, but Lears make poor gliders. You need to say your goodbyes - quickly - just in case." 

Bruce pointed to the altimeter and its ever-decreasing numbers, and Clark realized Bruce thought they were going to die. Mind clicking at supernatural speed, he sorted through his options as he stared out the window, idly wondering if the tallest building was the corporate headquarters for Wayne Enterprises. He could burn out the autopilot with his heat vision, but he didn't know where to aim and he'd probably do more harm than good. He could grab Bruce and jump, which would save Bruce but wouldn't do much for Gotham's unwary citizenry... or he could attempt to alter the trajectory of the plane and bring it down himself, which was something he wasn't sure he _could_ successfully do. It wasn't like he'd had occasion to practice _that_ , unlike his other abilities. 

One thing was certain. He couldn't go down with the plane and just walk away from the wreckage. Aside from the fact that he wouldn't be able to live with himself afterwards, Lex would never understand if he didn't at least _try_. 

Whatever he did, Bruce Wayne would know about him, and so would a whole bunch of other people if he wasn't careful. 

In the second it had taken him to consider everything, Bruce had started shutting down the power. 

"Bruce, where's your house? What direction from here?" 

"Two o'clock from our present position, about eighteen miles out," Bruce said tersely. "Go buckle yourself into a seat in the middle of the plane. The fuselage has the most structural integrity there." 

"Thanks," Clark said, and using superspeed, plucked Bruce out of the cockpit and then buckled him into the place he'd recommended, heat vision welding the belt closure as well as the rivets that secured the seat to the floor. "Wish us luck," Clark added, and then opened the door and stepped out before the astonished man could speak. 

The air speed buffeted him backwards and down in a helpless tumble, but _this_ Clark _had_ practiced - shooting high above the clouds and allowing himself to free fall through the clear Kansas sky, over and over until he learned to control his own flight. 

It was a matter of an instant to orient himself and chase after Bruce's jet, catching up to it easily. Recalling what Bruce had said about the structural integrity, he came up under the midsection of the plane, shouldering up between the wings and gaining a grip by virtue of punching his fingers through the fuselage. Trial and error taught him about shifting the load to more easily slice through the wind, and in a relatively short while he felt confident that he had control of the plane's trajectory and speed. 

Thanking every deity he could think of that it was a cloudy, gloomy night, Clark noted his landmarks and gradually steered Bruce's jet away from Gotham proper and towards the direction that Bruce had pointed out just a bit ago. The area quickly became surprisingly rural, and although Clark had a bad moment as he touched down to earth in the middle of a wide field, when the jet bobbled badly and almost pounded him through the grass, he finally managed to ease the aircraft onto the ground and slide out from under it. 

Wasting no time, he jumped back into the plane through the still-open door, where Bruce Wayne was regarding him with a steely-eyed glare that would have done his father proud. Clark tore apart Bruce's lap belt strap and found himself abruptly shoved up against the bulkhead, shirt fisted in a two handed grip. 

"Don't _ever_ restrain me again," Bruce ordered grimly, breath hot on Clark's face in a direct contrast to the cold rage in his eyes... and Clark couldn't help it, he snickered. 

"Got issues, Bruce?" 

To his surprise, Bruce relaxed, then favored him with a genuine, broad grin. 

"A few. How did you- no. What are you?" Bruce demanded, releasing Clark and straightening his shirt with a yank. 

"You didn't really think Lex Luthor loved me just for my pretty face, did you?" Clark shot back, and both men found themselves laughing, relief making them giddy. 

"I should have known better," Bruce conceded, and just like that, it was okay. Clark's underlying message sent - _Lex_ knows what I am - received by Bruce and tacitly acknowledged. 

* * *

Bruce scooped up a couple of items from the cockpit area, including the cell phone with its flashing 'you've got messages' light, and jumped out of the plane. Clark Kent retrieved his duffel bag and was close on Bruce's heels. Bruce took a long moment to inspect his jet, sitting innocently in a cow pasture like it was meant to be there, and privately shook his head. He still didn't know who or what Clark Kent was - meteorite mutant, maybe? It didn't matter, really. Chance had made him a lucky man this day, and that was enough. And although he couldn't wait to get Lex alone and pick his friend's brain, he rather suspected that Lex would be as close-mouthed about Clark as Lex ordinarily was about his own life. 

He couldn't _wait_ to see them together. 

Punching in the code to hear his messages, Bruce nudged Clark in the direction of home, which by his best estimate was only a couple of miles away. They started walking briskly, ignoring the misty drizzle that the low-lying clouds finally released. 

Selina had left two messages. First, threatening to kick his ass if he didn't call her back ASAP, and the second informing him that she'd run into Edward Nygma right outside her apartment and kicked _his_ ass... something that made Bruce chuckle under his breath and wave off Clark's questioning look. 

That was one of the things Bruce liked best about Selina. She was perfectly capable of kicking _anybody's_ ass, even Batman's. It certainly kept their relationship exciting. So what if she liked to dress in a catsuit and commit a little B &E on the side? As long as she didn't hurt anybody, he didn't much care. He wasn't precisely walking the straight and narrow himself with his vigilantism, and his primary focus was on the thieves of lives, not property. 

He dialed the manor and was unexpectedly touched when Alfred answered on the first ring. 

"Master Bruce? Are you all right, sir?" 

"I'm fine, Alfred. Is everything all right there?" 

"Yes, Sir. I received a rather distressing telephone call from Miss Kyle but I assume from the sound of your voice that the situation is under control?" 

"We'll need to get a flatbed out to Miller's field to pick up the jet... but no one was injured. I'll be there soon, with a guest." 

"Very good, sir. I must report, Master Lex ate poorly at dinner and retired over an hour ago. He's slept a great deal today, sir." Alfred's voice clearly conveyed his concern, an emotion Bruce would have ordinarily shared. He was quite sure Clark would alleviate Lex's unusual depression, however. 

"I'm bringing a surprise for Master Lex," Bruce said with an audible smile, watching the spreading grin on Clark's face at his words. Oh, yeah. "I think you should plan on a large breakfast- no, brunch, Alfred." 

"As you wish, Master Bruce." 

"See you soon." 

Their pace slowed a bit as the ground began to get muddy, and Bruce used the opportunity to explain a few more things about the relationship he and Lex had. It wouldn't do for Clark to wonder why Lex was sleeping in Bruce's bed - Bruce didn't want anything to interfere with the upcoming reunion. 

This was going to be good. He could feel it. 

* * *

Mildly surprised, but too sleepy to really care, Lex felt the mattress dip behind him. A warm hand gently squeezed his upper arm, and he let out a quiet, exasperated sigh. He should have known Bruce wouldn't leave him alone all night. 

Bruce worried too much; always had. 

"I was having the best dream, Bruce," he complained drowsily, casually petting his friend's fingers. 

"Was I in it?" 

Suddenly wide awake, Lex rolled onto his back, his disbelieving eyes fixing on Clark's face, barely visible in the dark room. 

"Cla-" And his questioning voice was abruptly muffled by the sweet pressure of a hot lush mouth covering his, name swallowed by its owner. His lips were teased apart and savored so lovingly that Lex felt it move through his entire body, a conviction that mere words could never convey. Warm fingers cradled his face and held him with exquisite care, further evidence of Clark's clear adoration. 

For a long moment he returned Clark's kiss with equal devotion. It was everything a first kiss should be; a willing surrender to pure, effortless pleasure, but he was Lex Luthor and effortless equaled easy, and he'd always refused easy. He tightened his hands on Clark's shoulders and pushed, well aware that Clark was _letting_ him. 

"Clark, what are you doing here?" He rasped as Clark straightened to a sitting position. 

"Lex, I was wrong. I'm sorry, so sorry that I hurt you. I was selfish and thoughtless and _wrong_ ," Clark repeated, and even in the poor light Lex could see the tear-damp glitter in those earnest eyes. "Please, Lex, forgive me. I talked to my parents, and I should have done it sooner... but more than that, I shouldn't have put their happiness ahead of yours in the first place. Please say you'll forgive me." 

About as boggled as he could be, Lex blinked furiously as he tried to assimilate what he'd just heard. There was no question about forgiveness - he would forgive Clark Kent almost anything, even if the younger man didn't know that yet. But had Clark actually said- 

"You talked to your parents?" 

"I guess you could say I came out... and I told them I love you." 

"You- oh. Oh, god. Your dad must have- oh, god, Clark, I'm sorry. I didn't want- You ran, didn't you. He- he threw- threw you out?" Lex gasped out between desperate pulls of air, fighting the very real sensation of his lungs shutting down; heart once again taken from angelic heights into the depths of hellish despair. This- this was what he'd feared. He'd never wanted Clark to lose his parents' love because of _him_. Never wanted Clark to feel like _he_ did- 

"No!" 

Somehow Lex found himself wrapped up in Clark's arms and pulled onto the younger man's lap, being rocked and soothed like a well-loved child. Any other time, he would've found this action patronizing at best and demeaning to his manhood at worst... but he couldn't manage the will to protest, cuddled as he was against Clark's strong frame. He calmed despite himself, the vise around his chest loosening rapidly. 

"It's not like that, baby. Listen to me. They're okay with it- with us." 

"You can't possibly be serious," Lex said, gobsmacked enough to let the 'baby' pass without comment. 

"Now, that sounds like my Lex," Clark announced happily. Lex twisted about until he could see Clark's face, ignoring the breathy little sound his wiggling produced and his own sudden, resultant arousal. 

"Your Lex?" 

"Mine," Clark said, and bore him down onto the bed, caging him beneath that impossible strength. "If you still want me," was added in an uncertain tone, and Lex let out a long sigh, finally beginning to accept, hope, and trust in this shifting reality. He wrapped his arms around _his_ Clark's neck and drew their faces together, luxuriating in Clark's sheer presence. 

"Only for the rest of my life," he whispered against Clark's mouth, tongue gently laving over those plush lips before dipping between them for a thorough kiss. Clark groaned into his mouth, a sound helplessly echoed by Lex as their hips rocked together involuntarily, hardness meeting hardness through layers of cloth that were suddenly intolerable. 

"Lex, let me-" 

"Yes." 

Clark pulled away for only an instant, but an instant was all that was needed, as Lex felt his sweatpants being eased off over his rampant erection and drawn down his legs. Clark's nude body slid back into bed beside him, warm and hard. Lex had a moment to promise himself that next time he would see Clark strip in the broad light of day, so he could see the wonderful skin he was already reaching to touch, then the inexpressible magic of having naked Clark against his own skin overwhelmed him. 

"God, Clark," he managed, rolling to cover the younger man and shivering with delight at the sensations. "You feel so good. I knew-" 

The words caught in Lex's mouth as Clark's tongue darted out to lick across his jaw, and Lex wondered why he was even trying to talk when he could be sucking on that tongue? When their cocks were bumping together in nerve-sparkling thrills of pleasure? When Clark's hands were hot on his ass and pulling him even closer? 

He threw himself into the next soul-deep kiss, barely noticing when Clark turned them again. It didn't matter to Lex which of them was on top, and hearing Clark's muffled whimpers was killing his self-control anyway. He lifted his legs until his heels were digging into Clark's thighs, the position change sending him right to the edge where Clark was already teetering, back muscles bunched and twitching under Lex's damp palms. This was Clark; Clark in his arms, writhing against him, sweat-slick like Lex had rarely seen him, even under the strong Kansas sun, his Clark, loving him... 

Clark called his name on a long wail and shuddered, wet heat spurting between them and slicking Lex's last thrusts. Lex threw back his head and cried out as his own climax pulsed free in relentless surges, obliterating his awareness with sheer ecstasy. 

When he could hear something besides the pounding of his heart, Lex could hear Clark whispering in his ear. 

"Love you, Lex. Love you so much. Always have." 

"Clark, look at me." Lex waited until Clark's head lifted, then he looked into his lover's dark eyes. "I love you, too. I always will, " he swore, then smiled, an expression Clark was quick to echo; a flash of white teeth visible in the faint light. 

"That's what Bruce said." 

"Bruce? I think you'd better start explaining a few things, like how your parents reacted to your... news... and exactly how you got here." 

So Lex listened as Clark related a rather long and meandering tale that seemed to involve an astonishing number of people who'd all decided that Clark and Lex belonged together, culminating with the events of the day and the unavoidable exposure of Clark's abilities to Bruce Wayne - a fact that Clark mumbled through hurriedly with obvious reluctance, waiting apprehensively for Lex's reaction. 

And Lex, who knew very well what Clark was going to see beneath stately Wayne manor once Lex told him to _look_ there, started laughing out loud. 

* * *

Alfred exchanged a rather satisfied smile with Bruce, who had to admit to feeling impossibly smug at the faint sound of his friend's rare, joyous laughter. 

"Shall I serve brunch at ten, Master Bruce?" 

"Better make it eleven, Alfred." 

"Very good, sir." 

* * *

Following brunch - which featured an inordinate amount of smirking from both Lex and Bruce - Clark flew Lex and himself home to Smallville, loving the fact that Lex was unafraid in his arms despite the heights at which they traveled. He was humbly aware of what it meant to him that Lex trusted him so, and silently vowed to never take that trust for granted or abuse it in any way. 

He did wonder about one thing. 

"Bruce Wayne is Batman, huh," he remarked, slowing as they passed through a cloud, merely because Lex seemed to get a kick out of being inside them. "That explains a lot, actually." 

"It's made him more than a little schizophrenic, if you ask me," Lex replied, his breath delightfully warm against Clark's neck. Clark decided to have a little trust in Lex, and admitted something he'd been considering for a while, now. 

"I think... I'd like to do that, Lex. Have a secret identity, fight crime and help people more openly. Like Batman." 

Lex was silent for a moment, and just as Clark was bracing himself for an argument, or even worse, laughter, Lex nodded. 

"I think it's a good idea, Clark. Will you let me help you?" 

"I can't do it without you, Lex," Clark said, throat tight. 

He'd never meant anything more. 

* * *

"Well, Lex, what exactly are your intentions towards my son?" Jonathan asked severely, the corner of his mouth twitching uncontrollably when Lex started then glanced at Clark with an expression he would have called anxious on anybody else. Clark looked happier than Jonathan could remember seeing him in years, the faint smile he was fighting to subdue shining brightly in his eyes. 

Once again Jonathan thanked God for his wife's wisdom in making him face the truth. Every good parent longed to see their child happy, content, and in love. He would have been a fool to deny his son this... and Jonathan Kent was no fool. 

"I think we're going to have to get the shotgun if Lex doesn't answer you, Jon," Martha remarked, openly teasing, and Lex offered her a beautiful smile that reminded Jonathan of the dawning sun. 

It occurred to Jonathan that he'd never seen Lex happy. He let his own smile loose and slung one arm around the newest member of his family, and gave him a squeeze. 

"Better watch out, son, Martha's a crack shot," he confided, and watched Lex's smile turn on him with its devastating brilliance, all pleased surprise and wonder. "Welcome to the family, Lex." 

"Thank you, Mis-" 

"Jon, Jonathan, or Dad, Lex. I won't answer to anything else," Jon insisted, and was rewarded with a speechless Lex Luthor... while Martha and Clark twined arms around each other's waists and looked on amusedly. 

Yeah, he was finally getting the hang of this fatherhood thing, Jonathan Kent decided with a cheerful wink for his wife. 

* * *

"Chloe, have you heard the news?" 

"I hear news all the damned time, Lana. I eat news, I drink news, I sleep news. To which news are you referring? The mutant birds in Mr. Rainwater's pasture that have taken out every cat in west Smallville? Lionel Luthor's decision to retire to the South of France? The Riddler being sent to Arkham Asylum for psychiatric evaluation? What?" 

"It seems that there's nothing wrong with Clark Kent after all, and he's getting it up just fine for the man of his dreams... if the smiles I saw on his and Lex's faces are any indication." 

"Whoa! Well, yay us! Mission accomplished, huh?" 

"Yeah, and I've got just what we need to celebrate while we decide what we're going to do about Pete." 

"Hmm. We _could_ share him," Chloe mused as a six-pack of Shiner Bock was duly produced... but that's a story for another day. 

The End  
27 Jan 04 

Latin translations: 

"Recedite, plebes! Gero rem imperialum!" - "Stand aside, plebians! I am on imperial business!" 

"Caesar si veveret, ad remum dareris!" - "If Caesar were alive, you would be chained to an oar!" 

"Ut si!" - "As if!" 

"Vah! Denuone Latine loquebar? Me ineptum." - "Oh! Was I speaking Latin again? Silly me." 

Lyric credit: Dido 'White Flag' from the album 'Life for Rent'. 


End file.
